A Musing from Last Month

March 2, 2014:   Sitting on my balcony, taking a break from laundry and cleaning, I am savoring leftover Wood Ranch deliciousness and enjoying the post-rain stillness that only seems possible on a Sunday afternoon. The normal sounds of weekday traffic have been replaced by the melody of the birds; theirs the only busyness I see, the only sounds I hear. I close my eyes and breathe in the moment

This moment of serenity (and all such moments) make me take pause – a deliberate pause – to know, really know that I am blessed. I have a peace and calm that such a stillness brings, and I am content. And that, my friends, is a true blessing.

I am blessed.

Just Because...

Sometimes I pick up a pen, not because I have something pressing to stay, but simply because there are times I just want to feel the movement and watch my thoughts become manifest with small, deft actions.

Photo taken from here: Writing Forward

Then I begin to wonder: How does one articulate, in words, all the thoughts and scenarios that play in one's head. I think this as I am reading and in awe at the ability of authors to envision new worlds and characters (all bits and pieces of people they know, themselves, and imagination. They plot out the major points of events and people
and skillfully fill in the detail - it's a bit of beautiful, practical magic.

FYI...

A bit of a purging, but I may also be able to use it later:

I don’t think I’d survive very long in the wild. You see, my defense mechanism is slightly useless: I withdrawal. Yes, my great defense against the dangers and disappointments of the world is to turtle shell it. I wrap myself in a lie of apathy; all the while, I lick my wounds and scold myself for being wounded in the first place.

I do not want you to apologize, pity me, or follow me. I want you to go back in time and not hurt me. Barring miraculous time-travel mojo, however, this  outcome is unlikely. So, instead, I want you to go away, not forever (most likely), but long enough. I want you to know you cannot fix me right when you want. I want you to know that what seems like a silly disappointment to you is simply one more to add to my collection. I want you to know I will be fine; I just need time to stew, wallow, and swim in my own head until I can once again emerge a rational, even-keeled adult.

A Lesson Plan I Heart

For the start of the semester, I gave a lesson (the same one for all my classes - a first) that I am still so excited about. I first had my kiddos read about the importance of writing down your goals, then (and I'm sure you see where I am going with this) I told them to write down six goals and a plan on how to achieve said goals.

One of the things I love about this, is I did not want them to limit their goals to the realm of the practical; you know, things that solely revolve around academia or career.

I tried to encourage them to think of things, experiences, characteristics that they feel would simply better their lives. Yes, the pragmatic plays a role; however, the so-called frivolous things of this world are just as important if you truly want to live this life, not simply survive it.

Because this was the first time around for this particular exercise, I made an example for them to see. (Also, I really wanted to do this too).

I really do love when I get down right giddy about my job. I cannot put into words what it is like when I see my students latch onto something, embrace it, and truly make it their own. Hee Hee.

My Sample board. I recommend this to all.

Watching them really get into this assignment and share one of the six goals they had to define, create an image for, and write a plan of action for was also so inspiring. Seriously, some of my kids were so brave in sharing their motivation behind a goal and why it meant so much. Of course, there were also those kids who had very fun, very funny goals - that was good too.

Upon reading a quote about art (a musing)

I don't believe in total freedom for the artist. Left on his own, free to do anything he likes, the artist ends up doing nothing at all. If there's one thing that's dangerous for an artist, it's precisely this question of total freedom, waiting for inspiration and all the rest of it. -Federico Fellini (1920 - 1993)

I still don’t consider myself “an artist” because an artist, in my mind, is someone who can bring to life creative images that somehow form out of the whispers of muses; those people who can beautifully and miraculously capture life in the strokes of their brushes.  I am, however, a person who loves to create (even when it’s an act of imitation).  I have a little corner in my apartment that I like to call my studio. I have this little blog (neglected as it’s been) where I like to think I create pictures of moments or emotions with my words.

I have to say, it’s taken me a while to get here, this place where I accept my expressions in all their imperfect glory. I know I needed to give myself enough room to grow, to not be burdened by expectation; however, I am finding more and more that it is time to raise the bar. I have been too undisciplined in the name of creativity, in the name of expression. As Fellini would say, I have given myself too much freedom. I am in need of boundaries and deadlines and discipline.

This is just another area of my life, of me really, that needs balance. I have a habit of being an all or nothin’ kind of gal. I need to allow myself some middle ground and realize that inhabiting this place of personal compromise does not negate my passion or dedication. What it does mean is that I can keep both and still leave room for error, for successes, for frustration, for contentment.

So, once again I am reminded how much life has to teach me and how much I am eager to learn.

Time and Space

I Heart Huckabees: “Have you ever transcended space and time?”

A great line. A quirky line. A quirky line from a quirky movie. However, this line comes to me now as I think about my amazing friends. I am currently in Las Vegas visiting friends I haven’t seen in over a year; however, as we sat, ate, chatted, and laughed tonight, it might have been a week or a  day since we were doing the same thing. It seems that the only judge of time is their beautiful little boy, now eleven months old (last time I “saw” him, he was in-utero).  He is this living, breathing representation of how quickly life progresses.

I am sure I am not the only one who experiences this. We all have that friend or those friends that allow us to transcend time, sometimes space, but mostly time. It truly is a wondrous thing to know that regardless of how much stuff gets sandwiched between visits, we pick up where we left off: instantly comfortable, content, and ready to make new memories.
So, next time your existential detective asks you if you’ve transcended time, you can say, of course, I have friends. Really, it’s science, and there’s no use arguing science.

P.S. To those friends I haven’t seen in a while, can’t wait to bend the concepts of physics with you.

Originally written: 7/27/11

Make Believe...a musing

In a waiting room, I saw a boy of five or so playing with his dinosaurs – he explains to his dad who each one is and why two are fighting. He explains that, “this one Dad, this one is Manny” (perhaps he is a fan of the melancholy wooly mammoth from Ice Age). The dad, distracted, must have forgotten this tidbit because as the boy was puppeteering a duel between the two enemies, he calls for help from Manny. Manny, however, stays firmly in the grip of Dad, completely oblivious that his ally is in peril.

“Dad, Manny needs to help” brought Dad back to the imagined battle.

The boy’s fervor in his imagined endeavors far outweighed the enthusiasm of his dad, and it was quite clear as to why: Dad was simply moving plastic; whereas, the kid was the dino. This kid is in a jungle, the dinosaurs are in life and death stand-offs. You can just see it in his eyes. He. Is. There. And, though his dad plays along, he is still in a waiting room.

A simple scene that illustrates how, somewhere along the way, we lose our ability to completely engulf ourselves in make believe. Well, most of us anyway. (Some may “make believe” in that they delude themselves about, well, themselves.) This is not to say we do not dream. Dreaming is vital to being a healthy individual, in fact. But as essential as dreaming is, it is not the same kind of magic as make believe, is it?

When do we lose our “make believe,” and where, exactly, does it go?

A bit Ironic

I wrote the following last night as just a purging of thought, and as it turns out, it is ironically poetic. Well, at least as I was rewriting it to digital form, I could feel a rhythm, so I simply broke up the prose structure.

When did I stop writing poetry?

I used to write poetry.
Some of it laughable,
But I wrote it just the same.

I thought in poetry;
I felt in it.
I found solace and passion and expression in it.

I was in love in my poetry.
I swam in heartbreak there too.
I was angst-y.
I was inspired.

I laughed and felt joy;
I cried and felt sorrow--
All in my poetry.
There was a time I lived in my poetry.

Anyway, there it is. The last sentiment doesn’t seem to have the same pattern, but it went along the lines of losing my poetry and not knowing how to get it back. Well, I can let you be the judge of whether or not the above is truly poetic, but I did enjoy writing in stanza for at least a moment.

Until next time, my friends.

Today...

I am sitting alone in a Corner Bakery booth, ear buds firmly in place, Mason Jennings drowning out the many conversations taking place around me. In my hand, alternates a red pen and a fork, taking bites of pasta in between essay comments and grading.


I have a lovely seat by the window that frames the courtyard containing seasonally decorated trees. It’s quite picturesque really – there is just enough of a breeze that the rustling leaves create a subtle, almost star-like twinkling effect with the white lights.

In contrast to my rather gloomy Saturday, tonight I do not feel lonely or lacking. There is no melancholy, no invisible weight, no real longing aside from the wish that these essays will magically grade themselves. No, tonight, after a long day of kids, meetings, grades, lectures, and tests, I am at peace. Tonight, sitting here in my corner of the world, I am content.

Staying Positive

Blessings are those things that make life worth while, yet they are also those things that we can overlook or  easily forget, especially those small blessings that fill the spaces between “major” life events. I know that I am guilty of focusing on the task at hand or the latest thing to go wrong (which is even worse) instead of keeping my mind on the good things that happen. I have an FB friend who continually posts “Stay Positive” and even went so far as to explain that it wasn’t just a flippant saying but truly a way of life.

This is my dad and me staying positve.

When I am faced with seeing things positively or negatively, I generally feel that things will work out and that, in the end, the good outweighs the bad. I must confess, however, that this school year, I have found that I am loosing sight of the big picture and am allowing myself to indulge in wading in the negative side of things. A puddle of pessimism if you will, which, left unchecked, will grow. Here I am, checking myself. And not in that downward spiral being negative on myself for not being more positive kind of way, but in the truly staying positive with real life evidence to back it up kind of way.

This idea of literally counting my blessings has been rolling in my head for a bit now and his reminder of lifestyle over tagline boosted me to create a list of blessings. The idea being akin to daily bread, you know, as in “give us this day…” and focusing on the small, could-possibly-fall-through-the-cracks kind of tidbits that I am privy to on a daily basis. Although it is true that there will be days that I am bowled over by Heavenly favor (which really, shouldn’t I be everyday when I actually consider all that God has given me), the main focus of this “track” sheet will be to remind myself of the good things, even on the days that feel like they are plotting against me.

So, I've decided to have this open for viewing. I strive to be Pathologically Optimistic; the daily posts will be similar to the “high/low” game, you know, without the low. I hope you enjoy and feel inspired to do something similar. I would also love if you shared your highlight of the day with me.

Musing....The "Emo"

They say (in the proverbial sense) that weather has a lot to do with one’s emotional state of being: the idea that there are more depressed people in gloomy climates than in tropical ones, yadda, yadda. Perhaps this is true, perhaps not. Personally, I pull for the idea that emotional well-being is a state of mind that one controls oneself; however, it must be noted that this is not an impenetrable tower. One can be infected, as it were, by surrounding persons. I say this because there are days where I feel as though my noble intentions of being upbeat are dashed by some of my students’ teenage melancholy, as if their “emo” were infectious.


Now, I am not going to blame all my sour days on these walking Mood Swings; after all, I do have my own days of walking up on the wrong side of the world. I will, however, say that being surrounded by heightened emotions all day, every day, begins to wear on me. Stupid things that I can normally blow off suddenly seem catastrophic. An ignored email (phone call, text, what have you) that would normally be attributed to a busy life becomes a conscious decision to send me a message. My already analytic brain goes into hyper-drive, and I must make myself take a step back. I determine to have a good week and this nagging, melodramatic nonsense vies to get in.

It is frustrating.

It is work to push it back.

But I am taking a stand. I say no to the “emo," regardless of how many of its carriers sit in my classroom. True, it is harder to pull someone up than down, but harder does not equal impossible. If I can catch a bad mood, surely I can spread a good one.

Now, if I can just avoid catching “the dumb” that has been making its way 'round school...

Musing #5

The Danger of Daydreaming...

Why do I do this not thinking-when-it-is-vital thing that I keep reminding myself to do. I get ahead of myself so often, carried away in the possibility of a thing instead of the reality of it. This is not to say that I want to lose that quality I possess to hope for the best, but I do need to keep my hope and expectation on balanced levels.

You see, I have this ongoing script in my head of how situations and conversations need to pan out, and when they don’t, I feel a loss for something that never was. Instead of a level head, I am often left mourning what could have been (or at least what I imagined could have been). It’s ridiculous really because while I waste time lamenting a figment, I could actually be missing out on making real memories.

Is there a balance to be had between my active imagination and practicality? Suggestions are welcome.

Musing #4

Staying in a hotel, EcoHotel, outside of the main center of Rome, in a typical neighborhood – busy, loud, a little dirty – in a typical city. I like the city center, but when relaxing, waiting to feel inspired, I find that I prefer (and am currently missing) being in the country. I am currently plugged into my ipod, listening to Ray LaMontagne tell me he could “hold me in his arms forever” – a loud motorbike momentarily drowning out his serenade. The busyness of the city, the rapid movement of business, cars, and life creates a busyness in my head. I am once again worrying about my responsibilities back home: financial shortcomings and what to do about my car…

Of course, as Damien Rice now takes over for Ray and begins his lament about "floating like a cannonball”, I am able to get lost in his melancholy and feel that I will also get lost in the history and surreal beauty that is Rome. I am sure an inspiration separate from Florence will by my muse for a season. Perhaps I’ll think back to Rome and feel the need to create or improve my mind- expand my philosophical and historical knowledge, as I currently fall short.

It may sound weird, but this is a shortcoming that I embrace. How awful it would be to find that I felt I had nothing left to learn or experience, no area in which I am challenged enough to grow. And right now, I need to learn to find inspiration in the middle of a typical neighborhood, in a typical city.

Musing #3

The Sistine Chapel and School of Athens: images I have seen in print, but to stand beneath the originals, the actual masterpieces, is breathtaking. To describe the feeling would fall short - it makes me think of the apostles' inability to describe Heaven with human words. It gives me this incredible sense of expectation: if I am having trouble describing something created by man, how much more incredible Heaven will be. How much beauty and (for lack of a better word) magic must Heaven hold? Heaven, an ineffable creation. Then, to think of the Creator - how beyond imagination, let alone words.

Musings on...Convenience

In Venezia (Venice), on a water bus, we met a misplaced valley girl who recently married an Italian man. Through conversation, she brought up the idea of getting used to the pace of life and the few things that she still finds irritating (even after two years). One of the things was the lack of convenience of store hours – early closing hours and the fact most (in some towns, all) of the stores closed completely on Sundays.

I am mulling this over on a Sunday as we are relaxing at the hotel, partly because we need to and partly because nothing is open – no stores, no museums, not even the laundry mat. We had to make sure we went to the grocery store yesterday (before eight o’clock) so that we would have food to eat today. We were forced to have at “home” family meals, and it was wonderful. It was just a couple meals, but they had purpose.


The picture is of our family meal by chef Josh.

I have heard it said that while the rest of the world works to live, Americans tend to live to work; this seems to be a sad reality. Could the stores make more money if they were open 24 hours, 7 days a week? No doubt there would be early morning Sunday proprietors who would attract early morning patrons and would earn a few more Euros each week. They could increase their profits, but it would come at a very steep price: purpose.

Purpose would have to be sacrificed. I know that I rarely plan ahead because I can jot to the store at almost any hour, seven days a week. If I am actually cooking at home, and I find I am missing an ingredient, no worries, VON’S is just around the corner, ready to sell me what I lack. This type of instant gratification has led to instant entitlement – and how this has seeped into all the nooks and crannies of life.

I wonder, could I start a one woman revolution? Help bring back the simpler ways of living – leave a little convenience behind for a truly better way of life?

I have already made baby steps – painting and reading more instead of owning a cable box – but I need to go beyond this beginning superficiality and make this slower pace a part of who I am. Become deliberate, purposeful in things as simply as dinner and as grand as relationships with friends, family, coworkers, students.

Musing #1

There is a symphony for all the senses: the vibrancy of the blue skies against the lush landscape, the breeze that carries with it the slight fragrance stemming from the lavender bushes, that same breeze swooshing through the trees, rustling the leaves in waves to perfectly complement the choir of birds. Had I been given the opportunity to create such a place, my imagination would have fallen short of this reality.